


First Contact

by hawkeblocke



Category: District 9 (2009), Mass Effect
Genre: And titles, First Contact War, Gen, I guess that's kinda cool, Pre-Mass Effect 1, Turians to the rescue, still bad at tags, the prawns get new names!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeblocke/pseuds/hawkeblocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He promised his boy home.  And now, he could finally deliver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> A few things.  
> It's either incredibly late or incredibly early and I'm too tired to figure out which and this is something I literally whipped up in about an hour.  
> While I put some thought in their names neither Christopher's or his son's names really have any meaning, but I figured they would have names other than what humanity bothered to give them.  
> You'll notice I don't mention "Prawn" and mainly that's because it's more of a term humanity uses for them and I don't feel comfortable coming up with a name for an entire race at 4:30 in the morning.  
> Also, Nero is an original turian character of mine. He's kinda cool, I guess.
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this work to my cousin, with whom I have been talking rather closely about the idea of this crossover, and how, maybe this is how the First Contact War started.  
> I also apologize for the shortness, but it really is late and I just finished watching District 9 for the first time in about two years.

“Preparing for orbit, contact with Earth in three hours.”  The screens lit up across terminals, the entire ship buzzing with activity.

It took ten years in total.  And in less than three hours, his people would finally be safe.  He looked down at his boy, though in truth he didn’t have to look far anymore.  He was almost a man grown, now.  He had seen the stars, been to the Citadel, traveled to every corner of the galaxy.  But Valehn had promised him home, it hadn’t been easy, but finally, he could make good on that promise.  In three hours.

“You sure this is the planet?”  Nero squinted at the readings.  They were undeniable; of course, life forms crawled all over the planet, signals from technology far below what the Turians possessed, noise, every bit of it.  Valehn nodded.

“Yes.  My people are down there.  They’re sick, they need help.”  Makus nodded his agreement.

“I was born on that planet, sir.  I could recognize it from a light year away.”

“That’s wishful thinking, son.”  The Turian replied, though he sighed all the same.  “You can see it for yourself, there _is_ life on this planet.  Intelligent life.  In what state did you leave your people in?”  _It must have been pretty bad if you were so keen on getting_ us _to help_. The statement was left hanging in the air, he could taste the words with every breath he took.  It had been a long shot, appealing to the Turians, but after meeting dead ends with the Counsel and nearly every fleet they had turned to, it was either beg them, or fail.  Failure had stopped being an option the moment he got the Mothership flying again.

“Desperate.”  Valehn answered.

“I’m picking up news reports, Sir.  Our friend isn’t lying.” His brow furrowed, his curiosity piqued.  Valehn leaned over the chair to get a better look as the Turian sitting in it brought up a screen.

“When we arrived the humans had cordoned us off into an area separate from the city of Johannesburg.”  He said idly.  “They called it ‘District 9’.  The humans took advantage of our weakness; we were treated slightly better than animals.”

“It looks like things have gotten worse.”  Nero’s mandibles were taught with rage, pressing against his face as if that would hold back the growl that emitted from him.  And he wasn’t wrong.

District 10 was supposed to be better; MNU had persisted, systematically evicting his brothers who didn’t know any better.  He kept that from Nero, knowing that that would only serve to sour his mood further.  There was still a way to end this in peace, a way to look past all of this and move on.  But first he had to get his people off of Earth, back to their own planet so they could rebuild and recover.

“Is that District 9, there?”

“No,” Makus said, just as his father spit out a hasty ‘yes’.  The two looked at each other, though he knew his son had already said too much to someone he trusted too easily.  “Before we left, Humanity’s government was trying to move us to a new camp; it was supposed to be better, though an agent confessed otherwise.  It doesn’t look like things have changed much.”

“Or at all.”  Valehn ground out.  Humanity was young and entitled to a few mistakes; the race did not have the luxury of being connected to the Citadel.  From the way things went on down there on Earth, it was a wonder they had even known other life existed beyond their own. “Though it is a little cleaner.”

The cabin was tense and silent, no one daring to speak a word.

“Get a message out to your people if you can, _Christopher Johnson_. Tell them to get ready for evacuation.  You’re going home.” Nero’s purple eyes were hard and cold.  Valehn didn’t dare refuse.  He would try.

“What do you plan to do, sir?”

“Start a war.”


	2. Touch Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally only intended this to be a oneshot. My brain thought otherwqise.  
> After a bit of descussion with my cousin we came up with a name for the Prawns.  
> You'll see I use it a lot in this chapter.

“You know your job, Valehn, don’t do anything stupid.” The armor was chafing, but then again it was hastily put together and it looked like it would fit a small Turian better than a Volucris. He wasn’t surprised. Most ships didn’t have armors for other races in inventory unless they were selling, and Valehn wasn’t exactly made of credits.

The armor wasn’t his, but the gun was, and it fit in his palm like an extension of his arm. He hoped he didn’t have to use it. “With all due respect, I’m not a green boy, Sir. I’ll save the heroics for those who have nothing to lose.” Nero seemed pleased by that, and the Turian moved on with a nod.

Makus’ armor fit him like a second skin, it was the only set this ship was equip with. He would rather keep his son off Earth for this particular task, but the younger man insisted, and the Turian agreed.

“We’re sending you with an officer, your boy will be fine.” Nero has assured him. “Besides, a little field work could do him some good.”

Now the boy looked at his father with a bit of uncertainty, clutching his sidearm like it was a life raft. He didn’t even know how to use it. Valehn put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s been ten years. I still don’t miss this place.”  
  
“Hopefully after today we won’t ever have to return. I promised you a home, Makus, and you’ll get it.”

“You promised that agent a way to fix him. Will you make good on that, too?” Makus’ brow creased, as if the answer mattered to him. Valehn didn’t hesitate to nod.

“If he wants it. If he’s alive, if I can find him.” A lot could happen in ten years, and the Creators only knew how many years had passed on Earth.

Nero nudged Makus into the small shuttle, barely big enough for two Turians, let alone adding a couple Volucre. “Just keep your head down and let your dad do the talking, son. You’ll be out before you know it.”

Valehn waited until his son was out of earshot, feeling his chest tighten with anxiety. “This… playing with war, Sir. I don’t think it is wise. We should simply get my people and leave.”

“And excuse the injustice that happened here? These humans must be taught a lesson.”

“We’re not talking about scolding a child. This is playing with the fates of entire races, and my people will be caught in the crossfire. I will not put them in any further harm, Sir. You cannot ask me to be a part of this.”

“And if the Volucre want to fight?” Nero’s entire body shook with tension. It was clear he was not a man who was used to being questioned.

“Then, they fight. But I have a boy to live for, and I know when to pick my battles.” Valehn ducked into the shuttle, taking the seat next to his son with a heavy sigh. “Whatever happens down there, I do not expect you to use that, do you understand?” He pointed at the small firearm in the younger Volucris’ lap.

Makus was a smart boy, if only a little too trusting, still too naïve, but made sure he had his father’s eyes before he nodded. It put his heart at ease, a little. Enough for him to take a more calming breath before he nodded to the Turian agent and the shuttle began its decent.

The goal was simple enough. Get humanity’s government of Johannesburg to allot them enough land to dock the Turian ship and recover the Volucre from District 10. Simple enough in theory, but Valehn had lived on Earth too long to believe it would take anything less than a small army. And they had that, he just wished they didn’t have to use it. He wished three aliens would be enough.

A small army is what greeted them groundside. Immediately the Turian had her weapon up, her finger inches away from the trigger. “Stand down, at ease,” Valehn heard himself growl, but neither party lowered guns.

The Volucris produced a small device, lifting it up for the humans to inspect, his next words slow and measured. They had to be. “This is a translator. Anyone within ten feet will be able to follow our conversation with ease.” It wasn’t as convenient as what nearly every other race had, but it would have to do. It was just another painful reminder that humanity was leaps and bounds behind them. “I am going to set it here, between us.” The barrels of twenty guns followed him as he stepped forward and laid the device down, activating it.

“You come here to start a war?” The speaker was young, but not far off, if Nero had his way. Thankfully, the Turian officer kept her mouth shut. She was there for the protection of the small party, little more than hired muscle.

“This is a member of the Turian race, the fleet you see up there belongs to her people. We’re here to bring my people home, this doesn’t have to end with bloodshed.”

There was a moment of silence, the young human male lowering his weapon a fraction of an inch. “Sir? It’s the prawn and his boy. The fucker’s got help.” He spoke quietly into the earpiece he wore, though the hush was in vain. “Yessir. No, Sir.” Another pause, the man’s face shifted enough for him to know that something was off. “Of course. Sir.” The man straightened, weapon lowered to his side in a show of conformability, but of course he was comfortable knowing they had the aliens outgunned. “My CO will be on sight within the hour. He wants to speak with you.”

“I need someone with the authority to allow one of those ships to land. Every minute more my people have to suffer on this planet is a minute too long.”

“Skipper’s orders. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. But there was nothing he could do about it.


End file.
